


The Nest

by Fyre



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Agent Barton was sent to kill me. He made another call.</b>
</p><p>When Clint Barton is sent to deal with a dangerous Russian assassin, things don't quite go as he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nest

**Author's Note:**

> I know there is a massive fandom split about Clint's family and the whole farm element of Age of Ultron, but there are elements of it that I quite liked. Which is why I'm now posting 10k of fic, explaining this.

She's already down when Barton catches up to her.

Looks like he's not the only one who has been sent to crush a formidable itsy bitsy spider. 

She's hiding out in an alleyway, silent as the grave, one hand pressed to a wound gouged out of her side by a bullet. Her head is back against the wall, and she's breathing hard, pale as ash. She doesn't see him on his lofty perch, but she hears her enemies coming after her.

As he watches, she blinks back tears of pain, not even making a sound, and pulls another pair of clips out, reloading with hands that tremble. She isn't shaking from fear. He's watched her for days now, and she never lets her fear control her body. That means she's in a lot of pain, but she's not willing to go down without a fight.

He was given a simple mission.

Find the operative known as Black Widow and terminate her.

Now that he's watching her, he's wondering if anyone has ever looked beyond the killer to the girl who shakes with pain but still picks herself up to keep fighting, to die on her feet. She doesn't even consider running.

She's younger than anyone expected, barely even twenty, and he knows she has at least seventeen confirmed kills to her name. That's why he was sent, to find this rising assassin, this wraith, this woman who lures her victims into her web with innocent charm, and kills them without hesitation.

What kind of lessons has she had that tell her the only option is to kill or die?

She closes her eyes, and he sees her lips shiver. 

She's afraid.

She doesn't want to die.

Maybe she doesn't want to kill either. 

He raises his hand, drawing out an arrow from the quiver.

Her enemies are coming closer, and she pushes herself to her feet, drawing gulping breaths. She can barely stand. Her ankle is swollen and she struggles to put the weight on it. Still, she stands, and she holds her guns like an extension of her body, grip relaxed.

Clint raises his bow.

There are four after her.

Two, she gets with pinpoint precision. The third gets an arrow through the throat. The fourth is on her, and she's fighting tooth and nail. The second arrow takes her assailant low in the back, and it gives her an opening to shove a knife up under his chin.

By the time Clint gets down from the rooftop, she's barely managed to push the man off her. She looks up, sees him, and he stops moving, hands raised and open at the level of his shoulders. She's soaked in blood, hers and her attackers, and she raises a gun, her hand shaking hard. But she doesn't shoot.

"You killed them." Her English is perfect. He doesn't ask how she knows he's not Lithuanian.

"I did."

"Why?"

Good question. He doesn't know exactly how to answer it.

"Have you ever had banoffee pie?"

She's thrown and stares at him, not comprehending. "What?"

"Banoffee pie. It's like banana and toffee and pie." He sees the way her grip is tightening on her gun. Okay. Maybe bringing up pie is a bad thing. Last thing he needs is an assassin thinking he's nuts. Still, it's a good argument. "You seem like a person who's never had banoffee pie, and I think that needs to change."

She looks even more confused. "Why? What do you want?"

He smiles then. That's all she needed to say. "I want to help you out of this shit you're neck-deep in."

She presses her lips together to keep them from trembling, shakes her head. "No."

"Uh, kinda yeah." 

"Why?" 

"Because," he says, lowering his hands, but keeping them open and visible, "I don't think you want to be killing people all your life." He offers her a quick half-smile, tilting his head encouragingly. "I think you're curious about banoffee pie now. I think you're curious about a lot of things that aren't killing people or stealing information."

"You came to help me?"

He winces. "Not exactly. My people were getting edgy about your skills and sent me to kill you." Her hands tense and his hands are up at once. "I don't always do what they tell me." He tries another smile. "Like now."

Her gun is trembling in her hand. "Why would you spare me? Help me?"

He risks a step forward. No bullet. No tearing of skin. "Because you look like you want to live."

"I shoot you now, I live anyway."

He shakes his head. "No, that's just not dying. I mean living. I mean rollercoasters and beaches and eating popcorn and watching bad movies until 4am, just because you can. I mean going anywhere you want to go, doing what you wanna do, with no one sending you orders to kill anyone"

Her eyes are bright, too bright for someone who is meant to be a stone-cold assassin.

She shakes her head. "I can't." Her gun is almost against his chest.

He nods in understanding. "Tell you what," he says. "I let you go, this once. You take some time. You think about it. You know where I'm staying, right?"

It's no surprise that she nods at once.

"If you want to try banoffee pie, meet me in the restaurant across the street tomorrow at noon. We can take things from there."

She wets her lips with a pale pink tongue. "You might want to kill me there."

"Sweetheart," he says gently, "if I really wanted you dead, you would have been dead three days ago." He stepped back, hands still raised. "Think about it. Banoffee pie and beaches and popcorn."

When he turns his back on her, he knows she's thinking about taking the shot, but her shadow stretching on the wall lowers the gun. He walks out into the street and lets the crowd swallow him.

 

* * * * *

 

She arrives as the bells toll noon.

He knew she would, even if his superiors are less than pleased about the development. Fury had some choice words for Clint when he reported in. Still, there was also grudging praise in the rant. Fury is never one to see a useful asset get wasted.

Clint is sitting at a quiet table near the door, his back to the room, working his way through a thick wedge of pastry, cream, and fruit. It looks like a bad position at first glance, but he likes it because it's just the right angle to catch the reflection of the whole room in the polished window. 

It also means she can take the defensible seat when she slips into the chair opposite him, with clear lines of sight around the room, and options of two direct exits. She's not going to want to be fenced in, not until she knows he's earnest. 

She moves as if she wasn't wounded the day before, and she looks like a completely different person. The combat gear is gone, replaced with a froth of skirts and a striped spaghetti-strapped top. Even her hair is different, change from vivid red to a wavy mass of brown. He can see the way she's changed the contours of her face with make-up too. 

She's something else, this little Russian spider.

She smiles wide and warm, like they're friends, and lets the waiter bring her a drink.

"I'm glad you came," Clint says.

She curls her fingers around her glass, her eyes fixed on him. "Give me your name."

Trust for trust. She has come this far. Now, it's his turn.

"Agent Barton," he says. "Clint."

"Clint." She tilts her head, watching him. "CIA?"

He shakes his head. "SHIELD."

She nods, then reaches over and steals one of the berries from his plate. Playing to the audience, he realises. Far too good at her job. It also brings her closer to him, and when she speaks, she holds his eyes with her own.

One simple line, to change her life.

"I would like to try the banoffee pie."

She pops the berry in her mouth, then smiles as if she hasn't just declared she wants to defect. Only a flicker in her eyes give away any fear. She really is something else. 

There are plans in place already. When he reported in the night before, Clint was halfway to wondering whether Fury had expected him to make this play all along. He speaks in riddles with the little spider, and she offers the same in turn. When she rises to leave, he catches her hand, making a show of playfully kissing it. What no one sees is the key that slips between her fingers. 

He doesn't know which of the plans he has just handed her, only that it's up to her now. 

She has been given a door out, and if she's smart and fast - and he knows she is - she'll meet him at a rendezvous in Gdansk in two days time. All he has left to do is finish his dessert, pack up his gear, and make sure that he's the one there to meet her. 

 

_______________________________________________________________

 

The Black Widow's first day in America is subdued.

There's a safehouse set aside just outside of New York for people like Natalia Alianova Romanova. It's away from civilians, and away from easily-accessible transport. The defences are top quality. It's a safe house, but it also serves well enough as a cage.

She knows it too, and for a split-second, Clint is almost sure he sees doubt and reproach in her expression.

SHIELD tries to put in a new handler, one of the official ones, but Clint knows it would be a bad idea. He tells Fury so, and Fury listens. The handler leaves them to it, and Clint tries his best to rustle up something from the few supplies in the refrigerator. 

They're sitting on the couch, eating cheesy omelette, when Fury arrives.

Romanova goes still like a cat, watching him.

"Agent Barton," Fury says, but his eye is on Romanova, and she sure as hell recognises him. That says a lot about the people she worked for, because Fury is the kind of man to stay in the shadows. "Miss Romanova."

She lifts her chin, and her lips draw tight. "Natalia," she says. 

Fury inclines his head. "Natalia," he echoes. "Excuse us for a moment."

She's still watching them when Fury leads Clint out of the door and onto the porch of the house. Fury leaves the door open, and sits back on the porch rail, hands braced on the edge. He's watching her, Clint thinks. Maybe he sees what Clint sees. Maybe something else.

"We need to talk about you bringing home assassins."

Clint snorts. He sprawls down into one of the chairs, stretching out his legs. "If you didn't want her here, she wouldn't be here," he says. "Did you bring it?"

Fury lifts his eyebrow.

Clint rolls his eyes. "Did you bring it, sir?"

"I don't want to know what banoffee pie has to do with any of this," Fury warns, "but if Laura comes after me, I coming after you."

Clint glances back around the doorway. Natalia has finished her omelette, and he can see her looking guardedly at his barely-touched one. "Hey, Nat!" he calls, and sees her jump. "Finish that if you want. I'm not hungry."

She will now, but only with permission, no matter how hungry she might be.

The whole trip back from Gdansk was a learning curve. 

Three days of country-hopping and cheap, backstreet motels can tell you a lot about a person. 

He knows she sleeps lightly. He knows she can be out of a bed and armed in a heartbeat. He knows that she keeps food squirreled away when he isn't looking, but she never touches his unless he tells her she can. He knows she has faint, fine scars, faded away to almost nothing, around her wrists. He knows that she has nightmares, but she never screams.

He holds out his hand and Fury gives him the box.

“You want to tell me what that’s about?”

Clint smiles, rising. “A promise,” he says. He looks into the box and whistles. “I got to get me a raise.”

Fury snorts. “For this stunt? You’re talking a cut. We have another mouth to feed.”

Clint closes the lid down again. “About that,” he says, “I had an idea.”

“About how to rehabilitate a Soviet assassin?”

Clint nods. “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Fury leans back against the rail and folds his arms. “I’m starting to see a pattern when I talk to you, Barton.”

“Just hear me out.”

 

_____________________________________________________

 

Fury doesn’t like it, but he didn’t like it when Clint said he was bringing home a new assassin, and yet, here she is. 

Clint calls home. It’s the safest place he knows, away from surveillance and cameras and anyone who could even guess who Natalia is. It’s a good place for her to start picking up the pieces of herself and putting them back together.

Laura listens.

She’s good at that, and she trusts his judgement.

“You think she’ll be okay here?”

Clint is reminded again why he loves the woman crazy enough to agree to date him all those years ago. She doesn’t ask if she’ll be in danger. She just wants to know if this girl he’s saved is going to be okay.

“She just needs a time out somewhere away from everything.”

Laura is quiet for a moment. “Clint, the kids… are you sure it won’t be too much for her?”

Clint looks across the room. 

Natalia is sitting on the couch, her hands tightly clenched in her lap, her head down. Fury’s talking to her. She’s tense and she’s scared, but she’s trying her best not to show it. 

“I think it’ll give her the distractions she needs,” he admits. “If you make up the guest…”

“What guest room?” Laura laughs. “Did you forget you’d turned it into the workshop?”

Clint winces. “Oh. Right. I’ll fix it up when I get back.”

“Sure.” He can almost see the smile. “I’ll make up the spare couch in the den.”

“You’re the greatest.”

She laughs again, fondly. “I know. Let me know what she likes. I’ll get some supplies in.”

There are three empty plates and an empty cake box on the coffee table between Fury and Natalia.

“Banoffee pie,” Clint says. “She really likes banoffee pie.”

 

________________________________________________________

 

Fury arranges for a quinjet to drop them off.

Clint watches Romanoff's face as they sweep in across the acres that surround his homestead. She looks nervous, and not a little confused, but she's assessing the situation. She won't ask, not until Fury is gone. She's still wary of him, and no wonder.

Turns out her organisation knew exactly what Fury is capable of and made sure all their operatives knew it too.

Clint leans into the cockpit as they come into land. There's something about seeing home for the first time in weeks that always makes him grin like an idiot. He turns as the ramp is lowered, and the rush of fresh air and the smell of home washes over him.

"We're here," he says happily, snatching up his haversack. "C'mon, Natalia."

She follows him, carrying her own smaller rucksack. SHIELD provided her with some clothes. No paperwork yet. It can wait, until she decides who and what she wants to be. It'll be less complicated, Fury told them both, if she decides to run.

She won't.

Clint's pretty sure of that. 

They stand by the edge of the clearing as the quinjet takes off again, the backdraught making the grass whip around their legs. Natalia watches it go, her hands white-knuckled around the straps of her backpack.

"Where are we?" she asks.

She looks resigned, like she's expecting another cage.

He smiled, pats her on the shoulder. "Home," he says. "This way."

She follows him in silence, wary and unsure, but right now, he could care less as they walk through the trees. The route is worn, one of his favourite walks, and when he sees the house up ahead, his face breaks into a grin.

Natalia slows down behind him. "Home?" she echoes.

Clint looks back, beaming. "Yeah. My place."

He sees the sudden flicker of panic in her eyes. She's good at hiding it, but he knows it now.

He stops where he is, turns to face her fully. "I promise you'll be safe here," he says, and he holds out a hand to her. "I swear by all that's holy. Or by banoffee pie. Whichever you like."

She stares at him for a long moment, then cautiously lays her hand in his. Her hand is so small and thin, it's hard to remember she's killed dozens of people with it.

When he starts walking again, she falls into step beside him. Her grip tightens as they near the house, and he knows she's terrified of what he's got planned for her. She could take him, he knows, but she's also in a bad place now. It would throw her off her game.

The third step up the porch creaks underfoot, and he looks down at it, frowning. 

"Need to fix that," he says, then forgets all about it when the door bursts open and Cooper is throwing himself off the top step. Clint yells, releasing Natalia's hand to catch the boy. "Coop!"

Natalia backs down a step.

Cooper is babbling like crazy, his arms around Clint's neck, about what he did at school, about his newest drawing that mom put on the refrigerator, about how many times the baby threw up.

"Easy, buddy!" Clint laughs, setting the boy on his hip. "Let me get in the door first, okay?" He shoots a smile back at Natalia. "Nat, this is Cooper. Cooper, this nice lady is Nat."

Cooper's eyes go wide, and he remembers he likes to be shy in front of strangers. He hides his head in Clint's neck, and mumbles hello. Natalia's reply is just as halting. She looks even more lost.

"Come on," Clint says. "I have a couple of ladies I'd like you to meet."

Laura's setting Lila down in her bouncing chair in the living room when they walk in, and she looks up with a smile. "Good flight?" she asks, straightening up and coming over to kiss him. 

"I think Nick wanted to open the hatch and dump us out," he says. He puts his arm around her shoulder, then turns with a smile to Natalia. "This is Nat."

Natalia looks like she's been hit in the head, staring at them in confusion. Laura steps forward, holding out her hand.

"Welcome to our home," she said. "I'm Laura."

Natalia looked at Laura's hand, then back at Clint. "I don't understand."

"I wanted to take you somewhere safe," Clint explains. "Somewhere normal." He gestured around the house. "You don't get much safer or more normal than this place. We've got a pick-up and there's a town a couple of miles out. You can take some time. Figure things out."

"But..." Natalia seems to struggling with the idea. "This... it's your family?"

Clint smiles as Laura slips her arm back around his waist. "So I'm told," he says.

His wife squeezes his waist gently. "How about you give Natalia the tour?" she suggests. She takes Cooper. "We'll start working on dinner."

Natalia watches them walk away, then looks back at Clint. "Your family?" she asks, as if he's setting a trap for her. 

"Hey, they're not that bad."

Natalia looks in the direction of the kitchen. Laura is talking to Cooper, and he's laughing. Natalia's hands are clenching and unclenching by her sides, and she's pale. "I'm dangerous," she whispers. "You shouldn't bring me here."

Clint hesitates, then reaches out and touches her shoulder. She flinches, but doesn't back up. "Nat, you made the choice to come with me. You made the choice. Yeah, you can be dangerous, but that doesn't mean you have to be all the time."

"You know that?" She's trembling. "Is that what you know?"

"You've come this far," Clint says gently. "It's your life now."

Her hand moves suddenly, and grips his wrist. Her fingers bite into the skin. "Don't let me hurt them," she whispers.

"You won't," he replies.

She stares at him, and her lower lip is trembling. She really doesn't think she can do it. He steps a little bit closer, and offers his arms. When she tentatively leans into his embrace, it feels like a huge step.

 

__________________________________________________

 

Laura shakes him awake six hours later.

I think she's having a nightmare, she signs.

Clint blinks owlishly at her in the half-light from the hall. "Wha?" She inclines her head towards the door. Clint gropes for his hearing aid, and sits up. "Wha's'it?"

"I was getting a bottle for Lila," she says. "Nat sounded like she was having a nightmare."

Clint nods, swinging his legs down from the bed. "I'll check on her," he says, rubbing his eyes. "Thanks."

The whole evening was tense. Natalia sat, eyes down, speaking quietly and politely. She ate when they did, but less than she would have. It was because of the family, he'd guessed. She didn't want to take food out of their mouths. 

When he'd made up the couch for her, she sat silently on the chair nearby, rubbing at her wrists with both hands. Her knuckles were white and she was leaving the skin red. He asked if she was okay, and she'd smiled, showing no teeth, and nodded.

Wasn't a surprise that she was lying.

He pads down the staircase, feet bare on the polished wood. The lights are off, except the downlighter in the kitchen. It's enough light for him to see that the couch is empty.

He looks around, frowning. "Nat?"

He puts on the light and sees her, wedged down between the wall and the arm of the couch. She's got a cable wrapped around her wrists, and is twisting it tight. Her whole face is tight, eyes pressed shut, and he can see tears on her cheeks. 

He walks across the floor, treading heavily, and says her name again, once, twice.

It's not until he crouches down in front of her that she opens her eyes. She stares at him, and he sees the way she pulls her wrists tight in the cable. It's the cable from the table lamp, and she's turned it into makeshift shackles.

Her scars make too much of the bad kind of sense now. 

"Can I...?" he asks, offering his hands.

She doesn't fight him, as he gently takes her wrists and draws the cable loose. The wire bit deep. There are red lines dug in, beads of blood breaking through the torn skin. 

"I can't do it," she whispers.

"Do what?"

She doesn't meet his eyes, and a blink sends fresh tears silently rolling down her cheeks. "Be normal."

He holds her wrists lightly in his palms. "You think you got it bad," he says solemnly. "At least you weren't in a circus."

That makes her look up at him doubtfully. "Circus?"

"Mm. Three-ringed." He slides his hands down to hers, then straightens up, and can't help being relieved when she grips his hands and pulls herself up to. "How about we get your wrists cleaned up?"

Her grip on his hand is iron tight, and she nods.

He leads her through to the kitchen, and gets her sitting down at the table. She curls her fingers into loose fists on the tabletop, as he moves around, fetching the first aid box and putting a pan of milk on the stove to warm.

When he sits down, she's still watching him.

"What did you do?"

He glances at her as he lays out from gauze. "Hm?"

"In the circus."

He opens up the bottle of antiseptic, and motions for her to give him one her wrists. "Guess."

"What?"

He takes her hand and gently turns her wrist, cleaning up the worst of it. She winces, but doesn't make a sound. "Guess," he says again. "I bet you can't figure it out."

She tilts her head, watching him. She's quiet as he clean and patches the first wrist. "What's the wager?"

He wants to laugh in triumph. "The wager?" He hums thoughtfully. "If you get it right, you get out of doing chores. If you lose, you get the kitchen and the living room." He gestures for her other hand.

She watches him clean and bandage her again. "Clown is too obvious."

He meets her eyes, grinning. "You sure?"

She hesitates, then nods. "Your bow."

"What about it?"

"Most people use guns. You're an archer. I think that was what you did."

He hefts the scissors in his hand, then throws them. She twists in her seat, quick as a snake, and sees them strike the dartboard with both blades and stick. "Wrong!"

She's staring at the board, then turns back to him. "Did you do that with a bow as well?" 

He hesitates, and for a split-second, a flicker of triumph crosses her face. "Maybe, a little." He returns to the stove, frothing some chocolate milk powder into the simmering milk. "Still, you didn't get it right."

"But I didn't get it wrong, either."

Clint smiles at his reflection in the glass. One day, she might even sass him back. "Fair enough," he agrees. "We'll say you just get the kitchen chores, then." He fills two mugs, and returns to the table. "Fair?"

She nods, accepting one of the mugs from him.

Clint heads to the refrigerator to fetch the can of whipped cream. "Laura was worried." He sees her tense up, expecting she's responsible. "She thought you were having a nightmare."

“Oh.”

He returns to the table, and tops up his mug with cream, then offers her the can. She shakes her head, her hands wrapped around her much. “Anything I can help with?”

“Just dreams.”

It was the same answer she gave all the way across Europe, but she’s never lashed her wrists together like that before. She doesn’t meet his eyes, and she turns the mug slowly between her hands, gazing down into it.

“Bullshit.”

Blue eyes flick up. 

“Nat…” He sighs, shakes his head. “I can’t make you tell me what’s waking you, but believe me, I want to help. We all do.”

She swallows hard, licks her lips. “There was a little girl.” Her voice is quiet, flat. “I was sent after her father. Drakov. A politician. No witnesses. That was the order. She was playing under his desk.” She takes a breath and releases it, shaking. “I was given my orders.” She looks over at the refrigerator and the drawing stuck there with colourful magnets. “She was… your son is her age.”

Clint sets down the mug on the table.

It’s one thing to know her past from her files. 

It’s another thing to hear her speak about it.

She’s staring down at her mug again, and he sees the tears rolling down her cheeks, falling and hitting the table between her arms. He can imagine what her nightmares must have been about, if she was tying herself down.

He reaches over and covers one of her hands with his. “You don’t have any orders now, Natalia,” he says, “and I know you won’t hurt him.”

She looks up at him, a scared child behind that woman’s face. She never had the chance to be anything but a weapon before, and now she has the chance, she doesn’t believe it. “How can you trust me?”

He can’t say for certain. Mostly, it’s just gut-instinct. But he knows she needs solid facts, and he knows he has those too. “You hurt yourself, rather than risk hurting my kids. You’re crying for a child who died a long time ago.” He squeezes her fingers. “You’re a hell of a lot better than whatever it was they were trying to turn you into. That’s the person I trust.”

She stares at him for a long time, then pulls her hands and the mug back. “Can I have some of that cream?” she asks.

Clint smiles and hands her the can.

 

____________________________________

 

Cooper isn’t so shy on the second day.

Instead of hiding behind his mother or keeping his face tucked in against Clint’s side, he’s changed his tack. Hiding didn’t make the stranger go away, so instead, he sits at the breakfast table and tries to stare her out. 

Natalia notices, but tries to ignore it. Trouble is that Coop has one hell of a stare when he gets going. He’s even got eating and staring at the same time down to an art. He’s shovelling cereal into his mouth, and staring as hard as he can.

“Coop,” Clint nudges Cooper’s knee with his own. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re staring.”

“Yeah.”

Clint glances at Laura, but she’s caught up with Lila. That’s one of the problems with still breast-feeding. Mom gets distracted from the fact her son is doing a pretty good impression of a serial-killer stare. Or cereal-killer. Clint snorts. Damn it, that was a good one, and no one heard it. 

“It’s okay,” Natalia says. “He can stare.”

Cooper gives Clint a cheeky grin, and sticks out his tongue, covered in mushy cereal. He turns his attention back to Natalia. “Are you going to live with us now?” he asks.

Natalia looks back at him. “I don’t know.”

“For a little while, yeah,” Clint puts in. 

Cooper chews on his cereal ferociously, staring some more. “Are you going to be my auntie? Because Micky at school has an auntie and he says she’s really cool and she buys him presents. Are you going to buy me presents?”

“Cooper!” Laura’s finally remembered there’s a child who isn’t currently sucking the life out of her. “Natalia’s just staying for a little while, so you need to be polite, okay? You don’t ask people for presents.”

Cooper licks his spoon, then studies Natalia again. “Are you?” he asks. “My aunt Natalalila?”

“Natalia,” Clint corrects him.

Cooper frowns. “Natalila?”

“Natasha.”

Both of them look at Natalia, and Clint isn’t sure who is more confused. “Huh?”

“Natasha,” Natalia says quietly. “It’s a… familiar version. Like Michael becomes Mickey.”

“Natasha,” Clint echoes. He makes a note to look up Russians and their crazy naming systems. He glances at Coop. “How about that, champ? Can you say Natasha? Na-ta-sha.”

Cooper bangs his spoon down. “Na-ta-sha! Na-ta-sha!” He beams at Nat. “Na-ta-sha!”

Nat smiles. It’s like she’s not used to using the expression, but it reaches her eyes for the first time, and she ducks her head.

Cooper grins at Clint, showing off all his teeth.

Clint leans over and ruffles his hair. “You done good, kid.”

 

______________________________________________________

 

The second night, Clint stays in the living room, watching movies with Laura. 

They invited Nat to join them, but she shook her head, and retreated to her bed in the den. Clint knows Laura stayed down for exactly the same reason that he did. They’re both there when they hear the tell-tale creak of the couch when someone jolts awake on it. Clint’s been in the doghouse often enough to remember the way the springs ping under your spine when you do that.

“Milk?” he suggests.

She nods. “I’ll see if she wants some.”

Five minutes later, Natasha comes into the kitchen at Laura’s side. She’s looking pale and haunted again, and he knows it’s only the first few steps of a long path. She’s wrapped up in Laura’s housecoat too.

“It’s too cold in there,” Laura declares. 

“I’ll start working on the guest room tomorrow,” Clint says, as if they hadn’t just been waiting for her to wake up. “Anyway, that couch isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. I swear it feels like it’s going to catapult you into the ceiling.”

Nat looks grateful that he’s not making a big deal of things. “It’s okay,” she says, “really.”

“Sh,” Laura mutters out of the corner of her mouth. “We want him to work on the guest room.”

Nat looks shyly at Laura, then down. She’s gripping at her wrists again, but at least this time, she’s only wrapping her hands around the strips of bandage that were already there. 

It gives him an idea. Fury knows the right people to get him the right kind of toys, but right now, it’s hot chocolate time, and he gets the feeling they’re going to have to stock up on whipped cream until she’s not having so many nightmares. 

“We were going to watch another movie,” Laura says. “If you want to join us.”

Nat accepts a mug of hot chocolate from Clint. “What kind of movie?” she asks.

Clint grins at her. “Something stupid. The best kind.”

 

___________________________________________________

 

 

Little by little, the nightmares ease.

By the time the guest room is patched up and ready for her, Nat isn’t waking so often. She still slips into the kitchen for a hot chocolate from time to time, and she and Clint sometimes end up sitting up until the small hours of the morning.

He does most of the talking.

He always does anyway, but with Nat, she seems to just like hearing stupid stories about his own childhood, or about something Cooper did with two slivers of apples and a Tonka truck that ended up with a trip to the ER, or even just simple things like his plans for the house.

Normal things, he realises.

All the stuff that he would have taken for granted.

She sucks it all up like a sponge, and the day she comes to Laura and asks if she can hold Lila, it’s like the whole world is holding its breath. Laura just smiles, and lays the baby in her arms. Clint watches them from across the room. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s not surprised when Nat’s whole body goes tense, and her lips thin into a line.

“Laura,” he says quietly, and nods to the baby. Laura takes Lila back at once, and Nat bolts. Not for her room, for once, but outside, into the open spaces. He lets her be for a while. If she runs off, it’s because she needs it.

He’s sitting on the steps of the porch when she comes back. It’s late and the kids are in bed. Laura waited up as well, as he worked on repairing the porch furniture, but she got up when she saw Nat emerge from the edge of the woods. Nat doesn’t need both of them there.

“I’ll be up soon,” he promises.

Laura’s fingers comb lightly through his hair in passing.

He sets down his tools as Nat approaches, and scoots sideways to give her room. Whether she wants to sit with him or walk past him, it’s up to her.

She sits down beside him, propping her arms on her knees.

“You missed dinner. There’s a plate in the refrigerator for you.”

She knocks her knuckles together. “Thanks.”

Clint watches her, and knows it’s the right time. He reaches over to his toolbox, and pulls out the box he set inside it. It’s not big, half the size of a shoe-box. He offers it to Nat, who looks at it, then at him. “It’s for you,” he clarifies.

She takes it warily, opening it up. “What is this?”

He leans over and looks into the box. “SHIELD have been developing them,” he says. “They’re prototype wrist weapons. Defensive only at the moment, but they’re pretty cool.” He lifts one of them out. They’re not designed for his wrists, but he lays one over his wrist anyway. “And they’re cooler-looking than bandages.”

She touches one with her fingertips. “Cuffs.”

“Cuffs that you can choose to wear and let you fight back if you want to,” he says. “Here. Look.” He presses the control, and Christ, he should have read the instructions, because the sparks shoot up his arm and he drops the cuff, and yelps, sucking on his blistered fingers. “Okay,” he says around his fingers. “Not like that.”

She withdraws the instructions from the box, and reads over them, then sets them down.

“Why cuffs?” she asks, turning one of them over. 

Clint hesitates, then touches the back of her wrist with two fingers. “They made you wear them to control you,” he says. “Seems kind of fitting you have something like them to defend yourself now.” He nudges her. “You can tell me you don’t like them. Or you don’t want them. I’m not going to be pissed.”

She puts them back in the box, but she doesn’t close it. “Thank you. For the thought, I mean.”

“It was a bad present, wasn’t it?” He winces. “This is why Laura gets to choose the Christmas gifts. I’m sorry. I just…” He shakes his head. “They remind you of back there, don’t they? Of what they did to you? I didn’t think-“

“Clint.”

She never interrupts him, and he’s so surprised that he blinks at her. “Yeah?”

“I mean it. Thank you.” She holds the box against her chest as she gets up. She stands there for a moment. “It’s not that it reminds me of there.”

“Oh? Good! That’s good.”

She stands there, silent for a moment. “It’s been a long time,” she finally says, “since anyone gave me a gift.” She meets his eyes. “Thank you.”

The sincerity in her voice and expression is like a punch in the chest. By the time he figures he should say something, the back door is already swinging closed behind her.

 

_________________________________________________________

 

For the most part, they're left alone, but a couple of months into Nat's stay, Clint gets a call from on high.

There's a job, he's told, and only his skills will do it. 

He sits Nat and Laura down when the kids are in bed, and explains he'll be gone maybe three days, five at the outside. 

He sees the now-familiar flicker in Nat's eyes that say she's afraid, and he reaches over the table to squeeze her hand. 

"You'll be okay here," he says. "You'll be safe."

Nat shakes her head.

"It's not her she's worried about," Laura murmurs.

It all clicks into place. 

Sure, Nat's nightmares don't happen so often anymore, but they're still there. Like the scars on her wrists, it isn't something that's ever going to go away. She still doesn't trust herself, not to be left alone with the people most precious to him.

He studies her. "How about we make this formal, then?" he suggests. "Natasha Romanova, I hereby order you to stand guard and protect my family to the best of your ability. I expect you to maintain our home and our people. Do you understand?"

The relief is palpable, and she blows out a shaking breath. "Yes."

When his ride comes into land in the field out back, Nat is standing on the porch watching it. She has her cuffs in place, sleek and black. They look out of place beside the oversized Snoopy t-shirt she's wearing.

"You okay?" 

She's twisting at the catch of the cuff, staring out at the quinjet. "You sure this is a good idea?"

He squeezes her shoulder. "I'm leaving my family with the best bodyguard they've ever had," he says. "Why wouldn't it be a good idea?"

She looks at him, eyes wide and dark. "You know why."

He sets down his pack and quiver, and turns to face her. "How long have you been here now, Nat?"

"Fifty-nine days, twenty-one hours, thirty-four minutes."

He gently takes her face between his hands, making her look up at him. "And how many times have you hurt any of them before now?"

"There's always a first time," she whispers. "First time is the hardest."

"Trust me, I know." He lets his hands fall to her shoulders and draws her closer. She steps into his embrace, dropping her head to rest on his shoulder, her arms limp by her sides. He hugs her gently and sighs, ruffling her hair. "I know."

He feels her shiver. "I don't want to hurt them, Clint."

He presses his cheek to her hair. "I know, Nat. You won't hurt them. I trust you to keep them safe." He hesitates, then confides in a murmur, "You know, only three people in SHIELD know I have a family. You're number four."

She tenses in his embrace, then steps back, staring at him. "That's... but I know."

He smiles crookedly at her. "Tells you something, doesn't it?"

"That you're crazy!" It's the most emotion he's seen on her face. "You know what I am!"

"Were."

"Semantics!"

He shrugs, and bends to pick up his kit. "It doesn't change the fact I trust you to do what you know is right, Nat." He leans closer to her and pecks her on the cheek, then heads down the steps. "And don't let Coop persuade you to give him more candy," he calls back over his shoulder. "The kid's a hustler."

He doesn't look back, not until he's in the quinjet.

Nat is still standing on the porch, barefoot and childlike in the half-light.

He waves from the cockpit, and smiles when she waves back. 

 

__________________________________________________

 

Fury comes back with him.

Laura greets them at the door, and Clint can see Natasha standing at the edge of the kitchen, Lila in her arms. She's still wearing her cuffs. She nods in greeting, but her eyes stay on Fury.

"Good to see you again, Laura," Fury says, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "How've you been?"

Laura smiles. "Well looked after," she replies. Her face lights up. "You haven't met Lila yet, have you?" She motions for Nat to come closer, and snatches her daughter up, thrusting her straight into Fury's arms.

Clint has to bite his cheek to stop himself from snickering. There's not much that makes Fury come over all awkward, but a wriggling four month old will do that to even the hardiest of men. Still, it only takes him a second to get her arranged and let her start chewing on his finger.

"She's a sturdy girl." He keeps his eyes on the baby, but Clint has no doubt he's paying attention to everything. "How about you, Natalia? Keeping well?"

Nat's smile is her close-lipped one. "I'm going by Natasha now."

Fury glances at her. "That so?" He jiggles Lila. "You mind taking her back, Laura? I'm needing to borrow your guest for a few."

Laura glances at Clint, but he's as in the dark as anyone. 

"We can go into the den," he suggests.

"We can," Fury says. "You can stay with your family for now, Barton."

Nat darts an uneasy look at Clint, but Fury's the one who okayed her presence. Still, he's not about to leave her alone if she's afraid.

"You okay with that, Nat?"

She looks between them, then pulls of a beautifully casual shrug. "Sure. Why not?"

Three weeks ago, he knows she wouldn't have been half as convincing. 

Laura comes to stand by Clint as Fury leads Nat through into the den. "What's that about?" she murmurs.

Clint shakes his head. "Who knows with Fury?" He turns to her with a smile. "You miss me?"

Lila is suddenly in his arms. "Yes. It's your turn to change her."

Less than ten minutes later, Fury emerges.

His expression doesn't give anything away, but Clint gets the feeling that he's disappointed. 

"Boss?"

Fury shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, Barton. Just needed to see how she was getting on." He nods his farewell to Laura, and is out the door before anything more can be said. 

Laura sets down the kettle. "He really likes being the cryptic superspy, doesn't he?"

"Kind of the job description," Clint replies, watching the man head back towards the waiting quinjet. He shifts Lila in his arms. "I'll just make sure she's okay."

The den is half in darkness. Only one of the table lamps is on, and Nat is sitting sideways on the couch, knees pulled up in front of her. She's turning over one of her cuffs in her hand.

"Mind if I join you?"

Nat looks up. "Sure." 

She pulls her feet out of the way, and he sits down, settling Lila against his chest. They sit in silence for a little while, the only sound Lila's contented burbles. 

"Hope he wasn't too hard on you," Clint finally says.

Nat shakes her head. "He just wanted to ask how I was." 

"And didn't want you to have your security blanket there," Clint guesses.

Nat shrugs. "He knows I feel safer with you around. He wanted to see me without you there." She undoes her other cuff, and folds them together in her lap. "I don't know what he's expecting."

Clint smiles. "I think he's waiting for the day you see what the rest of us see in your."

She looks up at him again. "What's that?"

He looks solemnly at her. "The massive goofy dork I know you are, under all those serious faces," he says, and is proud that he manages to keep his face straight.

Nat's lips twitch, and she elbows him in the side.

"Hey! Easy! Man with a baby!" he exclaims.

"You'd say it, even without a baby," she says. She leans over and strokes Lila's hair, and murmurs something in Russian to the baby.

Clint eyes her warily. "What did you just say?"

Nat looks at him innocently as she gets up off the couch. "I congratulated her on her strong and manly father."

When she slips out of the den, Clint lets his head fall back on the back of the couch and grins at the ceiling. 

 

 

________________________________________________

 

The first time Laura persuades Nat to babysit, it's only Cooper and it's only for an hour, so she and Clint can have some alone time for the first time since Lila was born.

Clint can see the trepidation all over Nat's face, but Cooper doesn't.

He likes his aunt Nat, and she's not like mom or dad. 

There are no rules with aunt Nat.

"We can go and play!" he declares, grabbing her by the hand. 

Nat looks back at Clint imploringly, but he just grins. "Good luck," he says. "You'll need it."

"Clint!" she protests, but the door swings closed after her.

Laura is behind him suddenly, her arms around his waist. "Was this your plan? A live-in babysitter?"

He covers her hands with his. "She's a little overqualified," he says.

"For Coop?" He can feel Laura's smile against his neck.

Clint winces. "Right." He tilts his head to look at her. "You think I should help her?"

Laura looks out into the yard, where Cooper is prodding Nat into facing one of the trees. It looks like he's trying to get her to play hide and go seek. "I think she'll be okay," she says, and her hands are at his belt.

Clint grins at his reflection in the window. "And here I was, thinking you wanted a deep and meaningful talk, but no. All about the sex."

Laura laughs that soft, husky laugh of hers. "Don't flatter yourself, Barton. I only ever wanted you for your body." She pulls him around to face her. "Now, while the baby is sleeping and Coop is tormenting our guest..."

She's over his shoulder and he's running for the stairs in five second flat.

Lila is merciful and gives them a good half an hour. It's more than either of them expected, and Laura fetches the baby, then comes back to the bed. Clint props himself up on one elbow, watching as his two favourite girls snuggle up, soft and pink and naked. 

"She's got your appetite," Laura says when he reaches out to stroke Lila's hair. 

He smiles, leaning closer to nuzzle at her free breast. "But I get more fun out of these than she does."

She laughs, curling her fingers into his hair. 

Clint looks up at her. "I never thanked you," he says, rolling closer to set his head on her thigh. 

"For what?"

He tilts his head like a cat and lets her stroke at his throat. It feels safe with her. In his world, that doesn't happen often. "For not kicking my ass when I brought home a stray Russian assassin."

"Who am I to complain about an extra pair of hands?"

He turns enough to kiss her on the thigh. "A saint." Another kiss lands on her belly. God, he loves those little stretch mark that remind him she grew their two kids right in there. Another kiss to her breast. "A saint with really great tits."

She catches his face in her palm before he can kiss her on the mouth, and shoves him backwards. He falls off the edge of the bed, still laughing. 

"Go and check on your son," she says. "I don't want to have to explain a dead Russian to the authorities."

"Laura!" he protests.

She waves him away. "It's feeding time here, and you're distracting."

He grumbles as he pulls his shorts back on and searches under the bed for his t-shirt. He's halfway down the stairs when he catches the smell of cleaning product. Nat was on kitchen chores again, but with Coop around, she would have been too busy to...

He stops in the doorway.

Cooper and Nat are side by side on the kitchen floor with scrubbing brushes.

"No!" Cooper wails, shoving her with his shoulder. "You're cheating!"

Nat shakes her head, backing up on her knees. "You're just not fast enough. Looks like I'm going to win."

Cooper starts scrubbing harder, and Clint can see they've divided the kitchen floor right down the middle. Nat's side of the floor is already gleaming, and she's into the last corner, but Cooper is scrubbing fiercely trying to catch up. 

Clint leans against the doorframe. "Having fun?"

"Sh!" Cooper exclaims. "I'm winning!"

Nat glances up guardedly at Clint, as if she expects him to be mad that she's domesticating his kid. His lips twitch and he winks. She hides a smile and she ducks her head again.

She's scrubbing more slowly now, and Cooper hollers in triumph when his corner is clean and wet before hers is. 

"I did it!"

Nat sits back on her heels. "Oh no," she says, sounding convincingly miserable. "I lost."

Cooper whirls around, horrified, and throws himself at her. Nat, caught by surprise, ends up with an armful of ferocious four year old, hugging her. "I'll let you win next time, aunt Nat!" he promises and burrows his face into her neck.

Nat is rigid, her hands hovering just shy of touching him. When it's clear Cooper isn't about to let go, she cautiously puts her arms around him. It makes Coop snuggle closer, and Clint can see the second Nat realises she's not about to be pushed away.

It's like wires holding her tense have been cut for the first time, and she hugs Cooper close, pressing her face to his mussed-up hair. 

"It's okay, auntie Nat," Cooper says solemnly, patting her on the back with a small hand. "You don't need to cry."

 

__________________________________________

 

They all go into town one afternoon, when Lila is five months old.

Laura wants to stop by her work and take Lila in to let everyone see how much she's grown. Cooper makes faces and declares he doesn't want to go and get his cheeks pinched by the old ladies. Beside him, Nat almost smiles.

"I guess that's universal," she says.

Cooper wraps his arm around hers. "I want to stay with Nat," he says.

Clint glances sidelong at Laura, who is smiling at the horizon. "How about I take those two to pick up some stuff at the store?" 

"You just want to avoid the cheek-pinching too?" To his surprise, it's Nat that says it, and he glances at the rearview mirror. She's wearing her expression of placid interest, and he gets the feeling that behind it, she's poking fun at him. 

Laura laughs. "I think she's onto you," she says. "How about we meet at that cafe off second? The one with the waffles?"

"Waffles!" Cooper yells. "Waffles for me!"

"Inside voice, Coop," Laura says firmly. "Or no waffles for anyone."

Cooper looks dumbstruck and leans into Nat. Clint is glad to see she leans right back into him too, as he whispers conspiratorially to her. He has no idea what his son is telling her, but he suspects it might be waffles and how they might got about getting them.

"I think that's agreement," he says to Laura, as they rumble past the Welcome sign. "Half an hour?"

"Give or take," she agrees. She sets out with Lila, leaving him to herd Cooper and Nat around the store. Cooper's long since stopped being wary of Nat, and she's overcoming her wariness of being around him. Now, he takes her by the hand and pulls her on.

He's not sure which of them starts sneaking Froot Loops into the shopping cart. They're Coop's favourites, but Nat has years of stealth training. From the way Coop's giggling, he's probably told her a whole list of stuff she should get for them.

He tries to keep his eye on her, but it turns out that she's not the only one who's good at stealth. Coop taught her how to play hide and go seek, but it looks like Nat taught him some tricks as well. Clint doesn't realise until it's too late and the checkout girl has already put through a giant bag of Jellybeans. 

"Hey!" he begins to protest, but Coop whoops, grabs his prize, and rushes for the door.

Nat's covering her smile with a hand. "You should have been watching him," she says.

He gives her a look. "What have you been teaching my son?"

There's a sparkle in her eyes he's never seen before. "Well, he's never going to be caught at hide and seek again..."

Clint can't help laughing. 

 

 

____________________________________________

 

She's been with them for nearly three months when Laura says she and Clint will going out later in the evening.

Nat looks up from Lila, who is happily playing with the rattle in Nat's hand. "What?"

Laura is holding the table steady so Clint can even off the foot of the one of the legs. "We've been invited to dinner with a couple of friends. Since the kids like you, do you think you could manage both of them?"

There’s only a split-second of hesitation, then Nat smiles. It brightens her eyes and she nods.

“It’ll only be for a couple of hours,” Laura adds. “You’ll need to get Cooper to bed, though.”

Nat looks across at Cooper, who is sitting by the coffee table in the living room and colouring in. “I’ll manage.” She goes over, and when Cooper looks up at her, beaming, she reaches down to ruffle his hair. “It’s just you, me and Lila tonight, Cooper. Mommy and daddy are going out.”

Cooper’s eyes light up.

“Why don’t I like the look of that?” Clint murmurs to Laura.

Laura swats his chest with a smile. “If anyone is a bad influence on our kids, it’s the one who throws sharp implements around the living room, sweetheart.”

“Hey!” he protests, grinning. “I have to keep up my skills for work.”

Laura raises her eyebrows at him. “And using Cooper’s fork does that?”

Clint tries his best to look virtuous. “I have to be ready to use any weapon.”

She sighs fondly. “Why am I taking you out in public again?”

On the other side of the living room, Nat is trying her best not to laugh. She doesn’t really laugh out loud a lot, but there’s a smile that’s broad enough to dimple her cheeks and make her eyes dance, usually accompanied by a small chuff of air. It’s rare, but it’s becoming more frequent.

Clint lets Laura bundle him upstairs and dress him up all fine. It’s a special occasion, she says. He has to look respectable for once. He makes a face at her, and in the end, she bribes him with the promise of a treat on the way home.

Treats can be anything from an extra large McFlurry to pizza night for a week. Sometimes, sex is even on the table. Or the hood of the car, if he’s really good.

By the time they leave, Lila is fed and already sleeping.

Cooper and Nat stand hand-in-hand at the door as they drive away.

Clint can’t help noticing Nat’s wearing one of her cuffs again. Only one, though.

“You think the house’ll still be standing when we get back?” he inquires.

“Ye of little faith,” Laura says, smiling.

True enough, when they return nearly three hours later and topped up on pizza because Fran and Nicky are sweet, but veganism is their thing and no one else’s, the house is still there. There are no squad cars or sirens. All in all, it looks like Cooper hasn’t escaped.

It’s creepily quiet when they go in.

Clint knew Nat was good, but wrangling Cooper to bed is a challenge and a half.

The living room is covered with toys and there are a mess of drawings on the coffee table. The lights are low, and the room’s empty. 

“I’ll check upstairs,” Clint murmurs.

He hears Cooper’s squeaky little snore before he reaches the door of his son’s bedroom. The door is ajar, and Clint peeks in. A stupid, soft smile breaks on his face. Cooper’s asleep, but more significantly, he’s curled up on Nat in his bed. He’s hugging her as if she’s a teddy bear.

Nat cracks open one eye, and moves a hand just enough to put her finger to her lips.

Clint nods, and withdraws, closing the door over.

He checks on Lila, asleep in her crib, then pads back down the stairs. 

Laura looks up. “He’s down all right?”

“They all are.”

She holds out one of the drawings to him. “Look.”

It’s a drawing of all of them. The scribbled Nat is holding Cooper’s hand.

Clint looks up at Laura, who is smiling.

“I think she’s going to be okay.”

 

________________________________________________

 

“What’s this?”

Clint glances over from the stove, where he’s trying his best to cook eggs. “It’s a bomb.”

Nat gives him a look that he knows she stole from Laura. She picked up the parcel with the gaudy paper and oversized bow. “I’m serious.”

Laura laughs. “It’s exactly what it looks like,” she says. She has Lila on her knee, and is trying her best to butter toast one-handed. It’s a skill. 

“Why?”

Cooper rolls his eyes and huffs dramatically. “Cos it’s your birthday, auntie Nat!” he burbles around a mouthful of cheerios. 

Nat goes very still and quiet.

Laura reaches up and catches her arm, giving it a squeeze. “You mentioned it when you debriefed,” she says. “Fury told Clint. I hope it’s okay.”

Nat doesn’t say anything right off. She sits down carefully, then turns over the parcel in her hands. Clint knows why she’s shaken up. It’s been a long while since she’s had a birthday that was worth anything to her. 

“We have cake,” Cooper added. “Mommy, can I get the cake?”

“Not for breakfast, sweetie.”

Clint tips the eggs out onto a plate and carries it over to the table, setting it down in front of Nat, who is fingering the rainbow wrapping paper as if it’s the finest silk. “You know there’s stuff inside the paper, right, Nat?”

She blinks, looking up at him, and her eyes are too bright. “Thank you.”

“I’d wait until you see it before you thank him,” Laura says with a snort.

“Ignore her,” Clint declares, dropping into one of the seats. “It’s a perfect gift.”

Nat hesitates, then carefully starts unwrapping it. Cooper abandons his breakfast and runs around to stand beside her chair, leaning on her thigh. Nat is trying her best not to tear the paper. He stamps impatiently. “Just open it!”

She hesitates, then tears it wide open.

Clint beams with pride as she opens out the t-shirt. 

Laura just shakes her head, trying to suppress a smile.

The t-shirt is bright, shocking purple that clashes horribly with Nat’s hair, and picked out in golden letters on the front are two words: Honorary Barton. 

Nat stares at it.

“Ugh. Clothes.” Cooper pulls a face.

“Good clothes,” Nat says so softly Clint almost misses it. She pulls it on over her pyjama top, and when she looks at Clint, she’s smiling, broad and dimpled.

He raises a glass of milk to her. “Happy birthday, Natasha.”

 

 

__________________________________________________________

 

Natalia Romanova is now officially Natasha Romanoff.

Fury came by with paperwork for her, and spent a long while talking to her in the den. When he left, he looked satisfied, and when Nat came out, she looked content. She’s going to join SHIELD, she tells them over dinner. She doesn’t know what role yet, but given her history and her skillset, she knows she can be useful, and on the right side for once.

“That’s what he was asking about?” Clint asks as he spoons some mush into Lila’s mouth. He can’t say he’s surprised. Fury always did like useful people. 

Nat nods, doling out a portion of mashed potato onto her plate. “He thinks we should keep my history quiet for now, but I’m to report to him next week.” She looks tentatively at Laura. “I’ll be sorry to leave.”

Laura smiles. “You’ll always have a place here, you know,” she says. “You’re an honourary Barton after all.”

It gets her one of Nat’s rare, brilliant smiles. 

“It’s just a shame this little bundle of trouble won’t get corrupted by you as well,” Clint says, waving a spoon in front of Lila, who grabs at it. “What do you say, trouble? Will you miss auntie Nat?” He leans closer. “Nat. Can you say that? Nat. Nat. Nat.”

Lila squints at him, cross-eyed around the spoon. “Nat!”

Nat lights up like it’s Christmas. 

“You see?” Laura says, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Everyone wants you to come back.”

“I do most!” Cooper exclaims, standing up on his chair. “I can say Nat too!”

Nat laughs. “Yes, you can,” she agrees. “But how about you finish dinner first, then we can all hear you?”

When Cooper sits back down at once, Clint sighs mournfully. “I’m going to miss that kid-wrangling ability.”

Nat smiles into her dinner. “What can I say?” she says. “I have an expansive skillset.”

 

____________________________________________

 

 

Tomorrow, Nat is leaving.

She’s making the most of her time that she has left. She got Lila to sleep, singing Russian lullabies to her, and now, she’s tucking Cooper up in bed, telling him a bedtime story. 

“It’s going to be strange,” Laura says, as she and Clint clear up the dishes from dinner. “I’ve got used to having her around.”

Clint slips his arm around her waist and kisses her cheek. “She’ll be back.”

Laura smiles, nudging him in the belly with her elbow. “I know. We adopted her, after all.”

Clint nods happily.

When he was sent after the girl so many months ago, he never expected things to turn out the way they did, but he knows he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

“I’ll get the popcorn,” he says. “We need to have one more movie-night before she goes.”

By the time Nat comes down, Laura’s laid out some of Nat’s favourite movies, and Clint is tossing popcorn into the air and catching it in his mouth.

Nat steps over him and grabs a handful of popcorn. “What are we watching?” she asks. 

“Your choice today,” he says with a grin.

She tosses him a piece of popcorn and he snatches it out of the air with his teeth. “Something stupid?”

“Of course.”

When the movie starts, she sprawls on the couch, one ankle propped on his shoulder. On her other side, she’s leaning against Laura. She steals the popcorn when Clint isn’t looking, and out of his reach, they cheerfully work through the whole bowl. One in a while, a kernel bounces off his head, but the popcorn is theirs now. 

Clint makes sounds of indignation, but in the darkness of the living room, out of their line of sight, he can’t help smiling.


End file.
